


Don't Speak

by tryslora



Series: Blow Job Friday [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Almost Unconscious Blow JOb, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Breathplay, Gags, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-23
Updated: 2012-11-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 08:48:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neville has vines, a trellis, and Draco... and he uses them all in a shamelessly short PWP ficlet for Blow Job Friday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Speak

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Blow Job Friday challenge. As always, JK Rowling owns the boys and the world; I'm just playing with them.

Draco whines as his arms are pulled high, stretched over his head and spread to the top two points of the trellis. Vines wrap around his wrists, holding him firmly in place. His feet are next, the vine coiling around his body, threading through the openings in the trellis to wrap around his abdomen, then sliding down to twist first one ankle, then the other. When it’s done, Draco cannot move, can barely _twitch_ , his body is so well bound. But there are openings behind him, and he can feel the cool air whispering against his bum.

“Don’t speak.” One tendril of the vine presses between his teeth, gagging him, while another coils about this throat. It constricts, stealing away just enough room that Draco can only breathe in shallow gasps.

He is completely under Neville’s control. Delicious tension slips into his muscles; he flexes, and the vines do not move. He whimpers, the sound barely audible.

Neville trails his fingers over Draco’s chest, teasing one nipple, then the other, tweaking the ring that is there. He flicks his fingers, and another vine creeps forward, twisting through the ring and tugging, leaving a gentle pressure in place. Neville has it tug until Draco cries out, and he leaves it there, pulling just hard enough to be more pain than pleasure.

Draco’s mind sways in the balance, teetering on the edge. His eyes close, wanting to feel more than see what will happen.

The soft slick slide of a tongue over his skin, stroking over scars and further down until it reaches his prick. Fingers cupping his balls, rolling them firmly as Neville nuzzles his hard length, teasing it with the bristles of his beard scruff. Draco wants to beg, wants to whine, but no words come out. His breath is rough, his lungs struggling to fill with the constriction at his throat. He twists, cock twitching, begging as best he can until Neville gives him that relief.

A mouth around his cock, slow and easy, sinking down onto his prick until Draco feels it touch Neville’s throat. He feels Neville gag, then the tight circle of his throat as Neville takes him in again. He wants to thrust, wants to make this fast and hard, but Draco can’t move at all. His satisfaction is not his own to take, but Neville’s to give.

His eyes fly open when his prick is released, the air cold on the hard, wet skin. Neville is on his knees, sitting back on his heels, a vine in his hand. Neville strokes the tendril as if it were a cock, and it glistens wetly.

“I know what you want,” Neville murmurs. “And I’m going to give it to you.” He releases the vine and it slithers away and out of sight. 

A moment later, Draco feels something slip between his arse cheeks, slick and wet as it circles his arsehole. It pokes just past the rim, pushing into him, opening him up. The gasp steals his air and makes the world spin. Draco loves the sensation that the world is barely attached, that he could fly off at any second. He is flying without a broom, and so close that he wonders if he could get off just from this alone.

But Neville doesn’t leave him, swallowing him down. Draco’s gasp is constricted, spots around his eyes as Neville’s tongue slides over his length. The vine presses into him, delving deeper than any prick could go, stroking him on the inside as if it were sentient.

Neville sucks and fucks him at the same time, and Draco loves it. His hips shift in tiny motion; he strains against the vines that hold him still. His tongue flicks out, tasting the vine that gags him, and it moves in response. Like a prick, it fills his mouth, pressing in as Draco sucks it, tongue stroking over the rough edges of it.

His prick is hard and aching, twitching as Neville rolls his tongue over the head, sucking him in and rolling his balls. The vine fucks his mouth, and his arse, moving harder until the world greys around the edges. Draco’s hips roll, bruising from the vines that hold him because he cannot help but move anyway until he spills down Neville’s throat as the world goes dark.

He comes to consciousness in Neville’s arms, fingers light against the marks at his throat and around his arms, body, legs. He slumps, letting Neville hold him up, body liquid in the aftermath of a vicious orgasm. When Neville asks if he is all right, Draco murmurs his assent, kissing whatever skin he can find tiredly.

Neville lays Draco down carefully on the garden bench, his head tipped over the edge. Draco’s tongue flicks out to taste the prick that is pressed to his lips, teasing it. He cannot move his body, and everything aches, but he still has his tongue. As Neville presses forward, Draco opens his mouth wide to take the thick length. He doesn’t have to do much, just let his tongue lave Neville’s length as he fucks Draco’s mouth. Neville’s fingers tangle in Draco’s hair, gripping hard, angling his mouth just so, letting Neville fuck his throat. Draco is relaxed and limp, taking him easily until Neville spills bitter fluid and Draco swallows.

His eyes drift closed.

Draco is wrapped in a blanket, gathered in close, cradled gently.

“You are so good,” Neville murmurs, and Draco feels the burn of his scruff against his cheek. It will leave Draco’s skin red, as it always does, and he loves these after-sex marks. Draco murmurs nonsense in reply, nuzzling Neville back.

Nothing more is said, but then, nothing needs to. They are both sated, and they both have each other. This is trust, and love, and it is everything Draco has ever needed or wanted. Words are unimportant; he doesn’t need to speak.


End file.
